


Panic

by aloe vera (Brokuto_Kotaro)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Anxiety, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:22:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28556070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brokuto_Kotaro/pseuds/aloe%20vera
Summary: “John, bro, you've gotta watch this. This is gold. How are you just sitting there while the literal image of comedy plays out behind you?” You laugh as you make your way over to the couch to find that John is sitting on the couch, knees to his chest, hands clamped around his ears, tears streaming down his shut eyes, hyperventilating.You feel like you've been thrown back to that first fire drill in seventh grade.You have no idea what to do.
Relationships: John Egbert/Dave Strider
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Panic

**Author's Note:**

> omg ok this is like just about my first homestuck fic n i wrote this back in like july but here u go ao3 lmk how it is  
>   
> [ cw; panic attacks + panic attacks from yelling !! ]

You can admit that you have an unironic crush on your best bro John Egbert. You’re sure that it started sometime towards the start of your senior year of high school; it was during the one class you both shared that year, when the both of you were moved to desks that were right beside a window. You had looked up at him after writing a joke for him to read on the piece of paper you were using so as to not get in trouble in class. He finished the notes that Mrs. Whatever had written on the board before he smiled wide and began to read whatever you had written; that was when the sun decided to shine on him and the light had hit his face and glasses so well and your face felt hot despite the fact that you were wearing a tank top and you wondered what John would look like in a tank top and you thought he would look really good and man it just got hotter. He failed to keep his laughter in and started to laugh as quietly as he could, which wasn’t quiet at all, and the lighting just made him even better looking than he did before; you didn’t think that was possible.

The two of you met in seventh grade; you had the same first period class. He was placed next to you after seating arrangements were made about a week or two into the school year. He was shy and you were bored, so you pestered him. You learned that he was homeschooled during sixth grade, but his dad let him go to a public school for seventh to see how he felt about it. You kept asking him questions because he had a habit of going into depth with his answers which would often go on a tangent to other topics for the two of you to talk about. He soon started asking you questions back and kept calling your bluff when it came to your whole cool kid thing.

It felt different to have someone know you instead of what they thought they knew about you. Because of your stoic, cool kid reputation, and the fact that it was middle school, rumors flew left and right about the mysterious Dave Strider. You wouldn’t confirm nor deny anything, and it just added to your mystery. It was weird to have John call you out on your usual cool kid answers, and you started to stick by him; he was someone who knew you, even if it had been about a semester.

Over the years, the two of you had grown quite close, and many would describe it as inseparable. You wouldn’t deny it either; the both of you came to each other about everything. Well, at least you thought so. There were a handful of moments that you’d ask John about things that he would brush off, which was weird when he was someone who could somehow turn a conversation about lockers into an argument about why his taste in movies, “isn’t as awful as you think! I have great taste, you're just blind,” smoothly.

In the one class you shared in seventh grade, the principal had made an announcement over the sound system; John had jumped in his seat and had even fallen over and onto the floor. You couldn’t stop laughing and were even sent to stand in the hallway until you calmed down, and you still haven’t let him off the hook for that one. For the rest of the year, he would flinch and freeze anytime the principal had made another announcement. In eighth grade, he would just flinch. In high school, he didn’t seem to react.

The time he had fallen out of his seat wasn’t as bad as what happened during the first fire drill of the year in seventh grade.

It was a practice drill, and the teacher had announced it as such. As soon as the alarm had gone off, John had jumped once again; you saw it out of the corner of your eye. You were about to poke fun at him and remind him of the golden moment that had happened before you realized that he had leaned over his desk with his hands over his ears while his eyes were shut tightly, crying. Your eyes widened in concern as the words died on your tongue. You got up quickly with your hands sort of hovering over him, unsure what to do. You looked around at the other assholes who just sort of walked towards the door.

“John? John, come on, man,” you gently put your hands on his shoulders before nudging him off his chair. His eyes snapped open before looking at you and slowly pulling his hands from his ears while breathing heavily. He stood up quickly, but was fidgeting a lot before he grabbed your wrist. This seemed to calm his breathing a bit. You sort of led him out of the room and into the crowded hallway. You felt his grip tighten. Once you got to the field, you sat him down and attempted to comfort him. His grip on your wrist never let up, but you didn’t mind; he clearly needed some sort of comfort and if holding your wrist was helping, you’ll let him do it for as long as he needs. He seemed to calm down a bit after reaching the field, and let go of your wrist once the alarms turned off.

You’ve made a point to break away from your class and look for John at the beginning of every fire drill after that day.

Throughout middle school and high school, John had become quite the popular kid himself. Being your best bro obviously brought him into the spotlight, but his big smile and the overwhelming amount of conversation topics he had off the top of his head attracted people towards him. He was social, he held conversations well, and he was loud; he was your polar opposite, and yet the two of you clicked the best. Once the two of you realized that you had both been accepted to a few of the same colleges, John threw a party for just the two of you over spring break. Well, he called it a party and you pointed out that it couldn't really be a party if it was just the two of you attending, but you thought it was adorable nonetheless.

You're currently in your first semester of college, and you're rooming with John, of course, and Karkat. Karkat was definitely more than disgruntled that he had roommates, but none of you could really do anything about it since you all needed to split the rent to afford the place. Your bubbly best bro stuck a hand out and introduced himself, to which he got a less than stellar response. You quickly learned how annoyed Karkat could be and how literally anything will push his buttons. You thoroughly enjoyed messing with him. 

You also noticed that John would fidget a bit whenever Karkat was around. You thought about bringing it up, but you didn't think it was that important and blamed it on new school jitters or something like that.

As you get off the elevator to your floor, you hear Karkat yelling about the bad grade he got on the project he’d been working on for weeks. You feel impressed since your apartment is at the very end of the hall, furthest from the elevator, and you can clearly hear him. You don't realize how loud Karkat actually is until you open your door and find him in the kitchen, practically screaming threats to the ceiling as he slams cabinets shut. You think it's hilarious. You look around for John to share this amazing moment, calling out to the dark, messy hair you’d recognize anywhere on the couch from IKEA that you all spent a solid afternoon trying to build.

“John, bro, you've gotta watch this. This is gold. How are you just sitting there while the literal image of comedy plays out behind you?” You laugh as you make your way over to the couch to find that John is sitting on the couch, knees to his chest, hands clamped around his ears, tears streaming down his shut eyes, hyperventilating. He jumps a bit with every cabinet door you hear slammed shut. You feel like you've been thrown back to that first fire drill in seventh grade. 

You have no idea what to do.

You throw yourself next to him, hands hovering over him. Do you hold him for comfort? Does he want space? You'd curse yourself out for being so useless if you weren't freaking the fuck out. You look at him before noticing his hands, and stand up before turning to Karkat. 

“Karkat! Stop it!” The Tasmanian devil in your shared kitchen doesn't seem to hear you. “Karkat!” Still nothing. “Karkat!” this time you scream. You can see John tighten his hold on himself, and you instantly feel guilty, but at least it confirms that the problem is the noise. 

You look towards the kitchen and realize that Karkat still didn't hear you. You stomp over and grab him, your hand clamping his mouth shut and your other hand blocking his elbow that was coming at your gut. He’s still yelling against your hand, and you let him go after he licks it.

“Dude! Ew!” You wipe your hand on your jeans.

“Ew? What the fuck was that for!”

“Karkat, you need to quiet down for a second!”

“That fucking fuckass of a professor just fucking gave me a bad fucking grade! For a fucking project I have been working fucking day and fucking night on for fucking weeks!”

“Yeah, I know! The whole fucking building knows--” You both turn towards the couch at the sound of a hiccup. You run back over to find John having trouble breathing. “John! John, look at me man, come on,” you place your hands on his to try and get his ears open.

“What the fuck?” you can hear Karkat’s disbelief.

“He’s panicking, dumbass! You were screaming your lungs to Jesus and-- and now he can't breathe so just stop fucking talking!” 

For once, Karkat doesn't respond.

John’s hands aren't letting up easily, so you pull him to your chest to try and get him to focus on something else. It's the best you can think of at the moment.

It seems to work, as John’s hands falter and eventually start to lower. You turn John towards you, his eyes now open. Tears are still streaming down his face and his breathing is still uneven and quick.

“Hey, bro. Don’t say anything, just try and follow my breathing, okay?” You don't wait for him to respond before over exaggerating slow breathing for him to follow. He follows, and he smiles at the way you're showing him how to breathe as he calms down.

After he's completely calm, he wipes his tears away before letting out an awkward laugh, “That wasn't cool, huh?” He sniffs before wiping his face again. It's cute seeing him try to play off whatever the fuck just happened, but you don't care as you pull him into a hug, your arms tight around his neck.

“You are an asshat, it is you.”

He laughs some more before returning the hug, his arms just as tight around your waist. “Why do you say that?”

“You scared the fuck out of me.” Your face is buried in his shoulder, but the tone of your voice shows your worry.

“Dave, I'm sorry.” You loosen up your grip, but not by much.

“What the fuck was that.” It's more a statement than a question.

“It was a panic attack, you fuckass.”

“Karkat, shut your face. You're the reason he had it.”

Once again, you don't get a response from the dwarf.

John leans into you for comfort. “Yeah, I,” he pauses. “I’m not exactly the best around loud sounds or yelling. So I guess Karkat is kind of the worst roommate for me,” He tries to laugh it off.

“Why didn't you tell me.” Your voice stays sturdy with worry.

You can see Karkat slowly start to walk away to his room out from the corner of your eye. “I didn't want you to coddle me or anything. When my dad let me go to public school, he treated me like I was so delicate and he still does. I hate it,” his grip tightens around you and he relaxes himself against your chest. “I felt like I was trapped, that I wasn't able to experience shit. I didn't want you to act the same.”

You pull back a bit, and John loosens his grip when he feels your movement. You look down at him, and he looks up at you. His eyes are red, and you can see tear tracks, but his blue eyes are warm and his smile is bright. You can't help but smile back. You lean down a bit and rest your chin on the top of his head. “I wouldn't have treated you any different, Egbert. You're still the same dumbass who has a boner for Nic Cage,” you feel him laugh, “and has a field day torturing me with bad movies.”

“Nic Cage is amazing and you know it, stop denying it,” he shifts in place and you straddle his body as he relaxes completely into your hug. Your smile widens, and you can feel his grin against your chest. After twenty-six seconds, he asks, “Dave, do you think we could,” he pauses, “stay like this? For, like, a while longer.”

You lift your head a bit before relaxing your cheek on the top of his head instead. You hum a sound of agreement, and you can feel him smile against your chest again.

In the silence, which is something your apartment has never known before today, you're left to think. You think back to middle school and realize how much everything made sense; the first time with the announcement, every announcement after that, and the fire drills especially. You left like an idiot for not seeing it sooner, for coming up with reasons for his behavior. To be fair, you asked him about it and he brushed it off, so you can't say you didn't try. But at the same time, you think it was obvious and that you should've figured it out. You can understand why his dad treats him the way he does, and if you're being honest, you'd like a dad that cared a lot like that, but you can understand why John felt so confined within himself.

Jesus, you sound like Rose.

You start to wonder if Rose picked up on this. You then wonder why she didn't tell you, especially since you and John were a), best bros, and b), now living together. You assume she has her reasons, or thought that not telling you would just be more fun, and you leave your train of thoughts there. At the same time, Rose never really raised her voice, so there is a chance that she doesn't exactly know about it yet. 

Thinking back to high school, which was when you formed your little group, you're almost certain that Jade had figured it out as soon as you all started hanging out at lunch. You can remember that during the first time you all hung out, she had gotten excited out of nowhere and started talking louder than usual when John started fidgeting. She almost immediately quieted down and directed an apologetic smile to John. She never raised her voice after that day.

You start cursing yourself out in your head once again; how could you not notice? Well, you did notice, but you never put the very obvious pieces together. You feel like such an idiot. John’s your best bro, and he's even your unironic crush. You hung out almost every day at each other's houses, texted for hours whether or not you two did hang out that day, and even went to each other's houses during the holidays. How could you miss something that was so obvious?

Before you can berate yourself further, a lock of dark hair flips up into your nose.

You exhale through your nose only to have the lock of hair flip right back before you raise and turn your head to rest your other cheek on his head.

You feel him laugh softly, “Sorry, is my hair everywhere?”

“Yeah, it's getting up in my nose business like it owns the place. It’s like it owns my face, it's so everywhere. This face ain't even for sale, Egbert. It's a Strider exclusive club up here.”

He laughs a little harder. “You're such a dork, Dave.” 

“Says the King of Dorks,” you deadpan.

“Doesn't that mean I know a dork when I see one?”

“Nah, it means you're the dorkiest of dorks.”

“I dub thee, Head Knight of Dorks!”

“Actually, your dad is still alive, so you're the Prince of Dorks. You can't just start knighting people.”

“But I am heir to the throne, and I want you as my Head Knight of my Dork Kingdom!”

“So I have to serve your sorry ass all day? Great.” John laughs harder. When you turned your head, you gave yourself a view of the TV; because it's off, you also have a view of your tangled bodies on the couch. You can see, and feel, John shaking in laughter. You smile once again.

You love being able to make him laugh like that, and from what you've seen, you're the only one who can do so. You love his big, warm hugs and how he's your personal body heater. You love his big smile and how it brightens up your day; you always felt like if John was smiling, then everything was good in the world. You love his voice and how he can talk for hours without being prompted. You love the way he carries conversations and uses his hands to express himself. You love his taste in bad movies and how much he tries to argue in their favor; your favorite moments are when he'll admit that some of his favorite movies are bad. You love how he hates the Betty Crocker brand and tried to make cookies from scratch one time for your birthday, swearing off any pre-made cookie mix from the store; you received a basket of burnt, lumpy discs from him that year, as well as a pair of wireless headphones that he buried under them. You love how he got to know you in middle school instead of just assuming everything about you like everyone else did; instead of seeing your mystery and being intimidated, he chose to investigate it. You love John Egbert.

You love John Egbert.

You love this big dork that you're snuggling with right now. He’s tall, and still shorter than you, but where you're lean, he's got some muscle. The both of you had a phase where you actually worked out together towards the end of junior year and a bit into summer. You would strife with your brother and he would build you up, but having someone like John as a motivator and workout buddy made it a fun experience. There was one summer morning where you found him sprawled out on your couch, saying that he didn't want to get up at seven in the morning anymore and wanted to eat Doritos all day. You agreed; it was getting hard to not just snack on whatever and wake up at ungodly hours. The two of you hadn't gone since. Looking at him now, he must've been keeping up the routine at home before college; he wasn't ripped, but he wasn't chubby either. You can feel his strong arms as the two of you held each other on the couch. 

He’s attractive, sure, but you love all of his little quirks and wouldn't trade any of the moments you two have shared for anything. He's big and carries a smile no matter where he goes, lighting up people’s days.

Which is why seeing him curled up within himself crying on the couch today felt so wrong.

Seeing him like that really scared you. You had never seen John cry like that after that first fire drill. He would be sad, he would jump, he would tear up at the end of movies, but he's never looked so panicked, so scared, since that day. You want to protect him. You want to make sure that he'll only ever smile for the rest of his life. He doesn't deserve to live in fear like that. He only deserves the best life, and you want to help him get what he deserves. You want to make him smile and laugh every day. You want to keep watching movies with him and hear what he has to say about them.

You feel arms tighten around you and John shift up a bit. The movement breaks you out of your thoughts, and you realize that you've been staring at John’s face on the TV screen. He seems to realize that you've noticed, because he laughs softly. You see his head turn to yours, and you look down at his face. His eyes are warm and are only a bit red. He brings out one of his hands from around you and reaches up towards your shades. You let him take them off and you watch him look away from you for a second to fold them and put them on the floor below the two of you. He’s seen your eyes before, it was at your third or fourth sleepover in middle school. He really liked your eyes and he still does; he tells you frequently. He looks back to you, and you just kind of look at each other.

You decide to break the silence softly. “Those are special shades, Egbert.”

“I know.”

“How dare you disrespect them by putting them on the dirty floor.”

“The floor isn't that dirty.”

“But it's still the floor, Egbert,” you see him smile out of the corner of your eye as you maintain eye contact. “Such disrespect. I’m offended, really I am.”

He doesn't reply and instead widens his smile. His infectious smile makes its way to your face and you start to smile back. His smile widens at the action, and he leans up before connecting your lips.

Your brain short circuits for a few seconds before you start to kiss back, and the moment feels so right. John starts to sit up and you follow, not daring to break the kiss you're sharing. If you let go, you might lose him.

While you've dated a few girls over the years, you can't say you've ever really connected with any of them. You were never really social, so dating wasn't really a big thing for you; it also added to your mystery. John, on the other hand, was your complete opposite and dated often. He never really stayed with anyone long, the same as you, and his longest relationship was with this girl named Vriska that lasted about five months. You always hated her and the bitchy vibe she gave off, and talked John into breaking it off with her after he had a breakdown over how stressful it was to keep her and himself happy during the relationship. You concluded that she was being manipulative and that you might beat her up for doing this to him if he didn't break it off with her soon. She tried to keep them together; she was yelling at him and berating him, and John was just frozen still. It was a good thing you were right around the corner to finalize it for him and pull him away from her. He was definitely happier after he broke it off and you were happier to see him smiling freely again.

You've dated girls and weren't opposed to dating guys, while John would always mention how much of a heterosexual he was to others.

Which is why the kiss he initiated caught you off guard.

You wonder if this was platonic or something, but you got your answer when he put his hand on the back of your neck to pull you in more. You smile before kissing him back, and you try to put all the love you feel for him into the kiss. He must've gotten the memo, because he started to smile as well. The kiss devolved into teeth touching with how much the two of you were smiling, and he started laughing lovingly as he put your foreheads together.

“What?” you can't stop smiling, “What's so funny?”

His laughter quiets down and you can see the affection in his eyes, and feel the warmth of his smile. “I love you.” He gives you a quick peck before pulling back to his position against your forehead. “I love you, Dave Strider. Dave, I love you. I love Dave Strider.”

You're ecstatic and you kiss him quickly, and it's still all teeth from how much you two were smiling. “I love you, John Egbert. I love the Heir of Dorks himself, John Egbert,” you say against his mouth. He laughs before kissing you again, and this time you two actually share another kiss. The kiss lasts a bit before the two of you break into loving laughter, still in disbelief at what's happening. He hugs you, and you hug him, and you lay back down against the arm on your side of the couch to snuggle like before. You play with his hair and even though it's messy and rough, it's softer than you thought it'd be. “So, what happened to being a raging heterosexual, babe?”

He laughs against you and you smile. “Well, I love you, so I guess it's no longer the case.”

“Sorry, ladies, I just took away one of your best bachelors. No one can resist the Strider charm.” He laughs again, and the two of you stay that way. Then a thought pops into your head. “Hey, John,” you pause and he hums for you to continue, “What caused you to panic at loud noises?” You can feel him tense up, and you feel awful for bringing it back to the topic. You think about telling him he's not forced to answer, but as his best bro and now boyfriend, or at least you hope you're dating now, you feel like you should know. You hold him a bit tighter to try and supply comfort, and you feel him relax a bit.

“Well, I guess you have the right to know since we just proclaimed our undying love to each other,” you share a quiet laugh and a smile as he looks up to you. He meets your eyes before looking away and tensing up again. You feel a twinge of guilt. “My parents divorced when I was in fifth grade, and I stayed with my dad,” you nod and hum to show you're listening. You've known about that ever since your first sleepover in seventh grade; you kept seeing photo after photo of just him and his dad and asked about his mom. “They had a lot of arguments before they divorced, and my mom was particularly loud. She kept slamming shit closed or throwing stuff around to try and scare my dad into admitting he's wrong or something? I don't know, but it definitely had an effect on me. He never let up, because he was right and would always admit to being wrong if he was, but that only made her yell louder, as if yelling louder would make her suddenly right,” you tuck your face into his neck to bring the two of you closer together and continue playing with his messy hair. “I would run up to my room before it got too bad, and it helped despite her voice rumbling throughout the house, but sometimes I was downstairs when it happened, and I would completely break down and freeze,” his voice is strained now. “I couldn't move, I couldn't speak. All I could do was sit there and shut my ears to try and block it out. Pathetic, right?” he let out a hollow laugh, and you tightened your hold around him.

“Stop. No. You're so strong to have lived through that. I’m sorry--” he cut you off by kissing your jawline; for being a Strider, a lot of stuff is catching you off guard today.

“Please, please don't say ‘I’m sorry’ like that, it sounds so pitiful,” his voice trails off.

“Sorry, continue.”

“There's not much else. He homeschooled me during sixth grade after I had a panic attack in fifth grade after they divorced, and he let me try public school in seventh grade. And that where I met you,” he pulls away from your hold just enough to see your face, and kisses you sweetly. He pulls away, but puts your foreheads together. “I didn't think I could handle public school with that first fire drill, but you didn't abandon me. You stuck by me, and we became friends. And now, I realize that all I need to feel safe is you. And I wouldn't give you up for the world.”

You smile again before kissing him again. “Love you too, babe.”

You pull him in for a hug and lay back against the armrest once again, and you both stay like that for a while, basking in each other's comfort on the couch.


End file.
